Ahhh Wrestlemania. The highlight of the wrestling calendar. Trying to strike the balance between expectation and delivery is like walking a 50ft tightrope. It could swing either way with the tiniest slip of the heel. But from tightropes and heels to turnbuckles and, well, heels. But I’m not talking about the round bit at the back of your foot this time. The hype surrounding the Triple H v Randy Orton match had reached fever pitch and promised to be the explosive culmination of not only their saga, but also the entire WM25 weekend. Did it deliver all that was expected? Well, you’ll just have to read on won’t you.

Sunday. Wrestlemania day. AAAAAAAAAARGH! The excitement was beginning to build and I set about baking my WM25 cupcakes. Yep. That’s right. I baked Wrestlemania cupcakes and spent almost the entire afternoon icing them in a suitable fashion. Ah what fun. Whaddaya think? Want one? Just don’t take the John Cena ones. I want to eat John all by myself. Aight? ;)

Before anyone emails or comments to let me know that Hulk Hogan has nothing to do with this year’s event…. yes, I AM aware. But my buddy Emma Monkey has love for just one wrestler. Hogan. Don’t even ask. I had to make her a Hogan cupcake or she would have beaten me up. Also take note of my Ric Flair WOOOOO! cake. I added some icing tears for him. Doesn’t Flair always look like he’s just finished watching The Notebook or something?

Anyway, let’s crack on. I took a one hour nap to get me through the long night ahead. I dragged myself toward the TV in my new PJs just as it was starting. Oooh the excitement. WHOA! All those people. All those fireworks. All those MILLIONS of dollars in Vince McMahon’s bank account.

Speaking of money in the bank (b0om-boom)……

The MITB match was brill. I was convinced that Kofi Kingston would win. At some point, if he doesn’t eff his chance up, he will get a big push, you mark my words. I love ladder matches. They’ve got that sinister “anyone could break a bone at any moment” allure. My brother, who only watches wrestling sporadically these days, called it that CM Punk would do the double. Good for him. Punk, not my flukey brother. Punk has potential as a future crush if any of the others bid the ring farewell. And I do have a thing for boys from his part of the world.

Time for a musical interlude. Kid Rock. Kid Rock? Really? Well. Ok, then. I don’t really get the choice of crooner and I’m not a fan, but whatever. It’s the early hours of Monday morning and I’ll take anything I can get to keep me awake. What the hell was wrong with that crowd? Did I miss something? They reacted as if he had just announced himself as a serial killer or something. Did he? I was a bit sleepy. There is a possibility I could have dozed off. I’m don’t like his music but I would at least show some respect, fools. Maybe it was the NYC hipster glasses. They say “I think (I’m cool), therefore I am.” No.

His set neatly left the ladies of the WWE in the ring. Oh God. I want so much to respect this, but I’m struggling. I admire the women in the WWE. No, really. Let me explain. The majority are displayed as nothing greater than Playboy mansion rejects and yet to keep their bodies in that kind of shape they have to work bloody hard. They rarely get a decent storyline that isn’t based entirely on sex and often they only get a really mainstream push if they’re written on to the arm of one of the big boys. Oh dear. I’ve gone a little off topic I’ll have to come back to this in a future post, I think.

So, the match. I wasn’t paying that much attention until I realised there was a strange looking “Lady” in a Victoria Beckham wig in the corner. Urggggggh, no. Santino. I know he’s a comedy character and it’s all meant to be taken in jest, but I’m over this Santina thing before it even gets going. I thought it would end up with Beth and “Santina” in the ring with Beth winning. Nope. A MAN was Miss Wrestlemania. I give up. *smacks forehead*

On to a proper(ish) match. Lover numero uno, Chris Jericho, was in action against the legends and the prospect of a probable appearance from Mickey Rourke hung in the air. Incidentally, I know he made an awesome film about this industry that I love, but I can’t get over how awful he looks. The best advertisement for living a clean life if ever I saw one. He looked about as uncomfortable as a Hollywood comeback kid could look sitting in the front row with all the rowdy wrestling meatheads. NOTE TO SELF: Remember that actors are not the characters they play.

Jericho’s music hit and I got a funny feeling in my tummy. The first of many that night. Out he came (cue gratuitous pants shot)……………..

Mmm. Nice. He was closely followed by the legends. Piper is holding up well, despite his personal troubles, although, he’s the most American Scot I’ve ever heard. Apart from maybe John Barrowman. Jimmy Snuka, bless him. Even pulling on his tribal threads can’t hide the fact that he’s rolling down the other side of the hill. Fair play to him for having a go though. Ricky ‘The Dragon’ Steamboat is in surprisingly remarkable shape. If I were 30 years older……..no. That’s just wrong. Then there’s the tearful pack-leader, Ric Flair. I hear that Flair was the life and soul of the party at the hotel, entertaining fans and colleagues alike. Good on ya, fella. Naming no names, but maybe you could teach some of the more junior boys that skill. (I’ll name names later on…..don’t disappear before the end, k?)

Jericho won the match, which surprised me. I was sure the old timers would bring it on home. But then, where could it have gone from there? Mickey Rourke was goaded in to joining my man in the ring, despite the reservations of the faux cronies, who he was flanked by in the crowd. He smooshed Jericho in the chops and Flair encouraged the crowd to heap praise upon Hollywood. Bastards!

I’d like to tell you all about the Hardy brothers match, but between making some tea, gathering my snacks and rescuing one of my cats from a mishap, I missed a lot of it. Sad but true. But I did end up with a happy cat and sustenance for the rest of the night.

Then on to Rey Mysterio v JBL, which was so short it’s not even worth a picture. Oh yeah, and JBL quit. A week before the draft? Hmmm. Interesting. Not really. Who cares? I was starting to feel a little disappointed with WM25. It was all………..fine, but I wasn’t feeling blown away. My hypothetical tightrope walker was looking wobbly. Very wobbly. But that was all about to change.

Last week I was feeling fairly uninspired by the Undertaker/Shawn Michaels match. In fact, I believe I said that Michaels was….kind of…MEH! Ouch! I’m sorry. Sometimes I get caught up the in matches that involve the boys I fancy the pants off and forget the others. This match was not just the best match at Wrestlemania this year, it was one of the best freakin’ matches I’ve EVER seen. That’s in ten years of wrestling. I am in TOTAL AWE. Move after move, after move, after move……. it was a beautifully choreographed dance between partners who seemed to know each other so well it flowed without so much as a second thought. Oh yeah, after many a count-out saved by a last second raise of the arm, Undertaker scooped up the win. Urgh! My cupcake lied. But how could it lie to me when it was so delicious? Kind of reminds me of this……

Mindy: What’s wrong?

Homer: Oh, yeah, like you don’t know. [weeping] We’re gonna have sex!

Mindy: Oh…well, we don’t have to.

Homer: [sad] Yes we do! The cookie told me so.

Mindy: Well…desserts aren’t always right.

Homer: But they’re so sweet.

I don’t think I’ll be using the ‘predictions by cupcake’ method again. Last week I said it wasn’t really about what happens in the ring. That’s not entirely true. The dramaz can’t live without quality wrestling and the top-notch ring action can’t function without a context. A truly, truly fantastic match. My tightrope walker just got his balance back. Now, someone please pass me the humble pie…..and a fork.

I kind of feel sorry for anyone who has to follow that. I mean, seriously, TOUGH BREAK! But if you can’t compete with the moves you might as well go with a soap opera storyline. Infidelity, passion, revenge…yep, it can only be Edge, Big Show and the light of my life….John Cena. BE STILL MY BEATING PANTS! With Edge and Big Show already in the ring I was curious to know if John Cena would use some kind of special gimmick to get himself in the ring. My fave was Wrestlemania 22. Remember? The 1920s gangster thing? Oooorgh. I loved it. Click here if you need a reminder. This time, I thought all my Christmases had come at once. What appeared to be hundreds of cloned John Cenas made their way down the ramp. There are a million dirty jokes I could tell in relation to this, really, I’ve got a lot, but I’ll save you from them for now. Just look at the picture and make up your own.

The match itself wasn’t mindblowing, but following Undertaker/Michaels, anything would have looked a little bland. I watched it back a couple of times. It was good and I’m super-chuffed that John Cena managed to impress my brother when he lifted both Big Show and Edge on his back. Wow! That kind of strength is……SUPER-WOW! If he can pick them up he could TOTALLY hold me up. Errrr, moving on. Swiftly. Before I combust.

I was tired, but I was holding my own and staying awake. Here’s proof ………….

John won the match, which made me a smiley-kylie, but it also made it far less likely that Randy Orton would win the final match of the night. You can’t have two belts on RAW. Don’t get me wrong….I love Triple H, but that hold he has over backstage proceedings can be slightly nauseating at times. Anyway, before the headliner, time for a a little Hall of Fame styleee interlude. They all came on out, waved to the adoring crowd and we waited for the GOD that is Stone Cold Steve Austin to appear in an ill-fitting suit.

There he was. What a hero. What a legend. What a…..hey…..WHERE’S HE GOING? Why is he walking off the stage when everyone else is still on the stage? Maybe it was because it was somewhere between 3am and 4am and I was not quite feeling human, but I totally bought it. I found myself wondering what contentious backstage spat had made everyone’s favourite beer-drinker walk off-stage. Then this happened….

It. Was. Amazing. I didn’t just smile, I beamed. BEAMED. God, I wish he was still around. Damn his severe neck injury that forced early retirement. I’ll love you forever Stone Cold. FOR-EH-VAH!

On to the main event of the night – Triple H v Randy Orton for the WWE Championship belt. The day before Wrestlemania I proclaimed to my boyfriend that I hated Randy Orton (he’s a huge fan) and that Triple H would be my victorious hunny-bunny. Then on Sunday morning the boyf told me some stories about Triple H that broke my heart. Apparently, he had been snippy with fans attending Wrestlemania, refusing to sign autographs, have pictures taken and speak with fans. I don’t know if it’s true or not. I mean, it’s the interwebz, they could just be spreading nasty rumours. But it took some of the shine off for me. Maybe I need to promote CM Punk to lover number 3 and put Hunter or probation. Yeah, I’m sure he’s devastated about that. As a result of the rumour mill, I went in to the match a little subdued – still not thinking much of Randy Orton. But that was about to turn on its head, thanks to one line from Jerry ‘The King’ Lawler.

I watched as Randy Orton slithered his way down the ramp like some kind of big cat, hoping that the excitement I feel when I hear “Time to Play the Gaaaaaame!” would still feel the same. I watched Randy Orton. I watched and admired his physique. “Whether I like him or not, his body is AMAZING. PERFECT, even.” I thought. Then The King gave me a Wrestlegasm moment. Well, his words did anyway. The camera zoomed in on Orton, and after a long pause, out of nowhere, came:

“Somehow, evil isn’t supposed to look that good. He looks like he was chiseled from stone.”

WRESTLEGASSSSMMMMM! They were the perfect words at the perfect moment. I bloody love you, Lawler. And you Orton. How the hell did that happen? Fastest U-turn ever. I should go in to politics. All of a sudden I found myself in Randy Orton’s corner. My boyfriend predicted that, somehow, I would eventually fall under Orton’s spell. I thought he was crazy. He’s obviously a very sane young man after all. Triple H’s entrance was pretty impressive, throwing a sledge hammer through a mirrored wall and all, but he had already lost my heart to Orton. At the very least I hoped for an explosive match. Errrrm…..didn’t quite happen.

The match didn’t have the in-ring WHOA-Factor of Taker/Michaels, and didn’t deliver the intense, bitter, family-fueled drama it promised. CHEATEEEEED! Where were Legacy? I only commented the day before on how great of an opportunity it was Rhodes and DiBiase to be part of such a huge story. Yeah, well, there was no place for them at Wrestlemania. No Stephanie, no Linda, bearly a glimpse of Vince and Shane. What a crock of shit!. It’s not that the wrestling was terrible, it’s just that, after such an enormous build-up, it all went a bit flat. Like the air slowing seeping out of a bicycle tyre. Triple H took home the belt and we were left with him on the ropes being all victorious like, and the crowd leaving. The crowd were leaving the Wrestlemania stadium BEFORE IT WAS EVEN OFF THE AIR. Oh dear. That can’t be good.

All in all I enjoyed my (very) early morning romp with my wrestle-boys-n-girl……or was it a really late night? I dunno. I took myself off to bed just after 4am, slept til 8:30am and spent most of this week trying to recover the hours I lost and the skin under my eyes. I’ve got some MAJOR luggage under my eyeballs. But it was sooooooo worth it.

Final shout out of the night goes to this couple, who managed to get a full shot of the Welsh flag on screen. Well done, darlings. Proud of ya.